


Electric Crimson

by Lohrendrell



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1736456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lohrendrell/pseuds/Lohrendrell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Itachi, a closeted artist, dedicated most of his spare time to the art of oil painting. More precisely, painting naked men in promiscuous poses. Lately, however, his hobby was becoming an obsession, all because of the beautiful red haired man he couldn't stop painting. Everything about that man was perfect, except for one detail Itachi was having trouble figuring out: the color of his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Electric Crimson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lady Agonla](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lady+Agonla).



> Written for Lady Agonla for the Itachi's Secret swap at y!Gallery. The prompt is entirely hers, I take no credit :) Crossposted here especially for Cai <3

Smooth jazz played in the living room where Itachi, his brother and brother-in-law lay, talking about everything and nothing in particular. Itachi was resting on the large sofa, observing Sasuke and Naruto lying on the fluffy carpet, tangled up together as if they were in the privacy of their bed.

“I really like this song,” said Naruto when a new track started playing, humming with its melody.

“I thought you didn't like jazz.”

Itachi watched as Naruto's gaze lifted to meet his husband's. “I didn't, but it kinda grew on me. You made me like a lot of things, did you know that?”

“Yeah?” Sasuke smiled, clearly pleased with himself.

“Yeah.”

“Tell more things I made you like.” 

“Hmm…” Naruto gave him a lopsided smile. “I can tell more about the things you didn't make me like, how about that.”

“Like what, for example?”

“Like kissing, for example.”

“Really…”

“Really. But don't worry, I have a plan to fix that. You kiss me over and over again, everyday, all the time, until I start liking it.”

Sasuke smirked and, bringing Naruto closer, sighed dramatically. “Well, I guess there's no helping it. I should at least give your plan a try.”

Naruto chuckled softly. “I guess you should.”

They kissed slowly, sensually, uncaring if there was someone else right next to them. In fact, they were probably enjoying it. Sasuke's and Naruto's exhibitionism tendencies were never a secret to Itachi, who most often than not was left to indulge them in their little kink. And indulge he did, watching intently as the kiss grew more heated. Only when Sasuke turned Naruto on his back and straddled him, Itachi decided it was enough.

“If you want to have sex, go to your bedroom first.” Just to spite them, Itachi threw one of the sofa pillows in their direction. It hit Sasuke's temple, and he grunted his displeasure while Naruto laughed.

“You don't know what you're missing, Itachi. We could make the show extra special just for you.” Naruto wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“Thank you, Naruto. I'm flattered. However, watching my baby brother and the kid I used to babysit going down and dirty doesn't sound very appealing.” Naruto opened his mouth to argue, so Itachi added, “Even if it would be extra special just for my sake.”

“Fine.” Naruto pouted a little, but then turned to Sasuke with a mischievous expression and groped his bottom. “Your lost anyway. Keep thinking your baby brother is still an innocent angel.”

Itachi snorted. “I haven't thought of you two as innocent little angels since you were thirteen. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave you two exhibitionists to your business.” He got up and walked to the corridor. “Try and keep it low. _And private._ ”

Both Naruto and Sasuke snickered at his last commentary, and Itachi rolled his eyes, already knowing they wouldn't go downstairs to their floor just yet. He'd have two options: lock himself for an entire hour in one of his rooms — and run the risk of hearing some very obnoxious love-making — or go out.

It wasn't a difficult decision.

As he passed the living room again, coat and keys in hand, he noticed the other two were in the balcony, but avoided glancing at them for more than a couple of seconds. Turning to the front door, he shouted, “Clean everything up once you're done!” The only form of response he received was a loud moan.

Not bothering to lock the front door, he descended the stairs by the side of the house, then entered the communal garage and went for his car.

Years ago, tired of the city life and craving some place calmer, Itachi, Sasuke and Naruto decided to join their investments in order to build a house in the countryside. Itachi made the plant and let the other two deal with the construction workers. The two-storey house was large enough to comfortably accommodate them without compromising their privacy (not that the couple would care about that detail too much) and it was agreed that Sasuke and Naruto would have the first floor while Itachi would live upstairs.

It took a while to arrange everything and, later, to adjust to their new lifestyle, but once everything was settled, it was a dream come true. Compared to the capital, the countryside was much calmer, therefore much more appealing. The batch they purchased was far away from the city, meaning much more peace and green around them. Their closest neighbor lived a few kilometers away from them, so Naruto could let his dogs (all fourteen of them) run free around the area without worry.

The only disadvantage of living there was the one hour ride to commute to the capital. Itachi and Naruto were able to adjust their jobs so most of it would be done at home, but Sasuke wasn't so lucky and still had to face traffic and pollution at least two or three times a week.

Itachi had been meaning to visit his friend's atelier in the capital for a while. When he got there, the sign on the entrance indicated it was closed, but he knew better.

“Still rude as always,” his friend accused as a form of greeting, glaring at Itachi when he entered the atelier without knocking first. “What if Sai and I were throwing ourselves in the mantle of passion right here when you got in? What would you do then, hm?”

“I can assure you I wouldn't be surprised to see a blond and a brunet doing the unmentionables in an inappropriate place.” Itachi chuckled when Deidara huffed, then extended his hand. “Hello, old friend.”

“Don't call me old,” Deidara deadpanned, but shook Itachi's hand. “So, what brings you here in such a lovely day?”

“I need more paint.”

Deidara huffed again. “See, rude as always. Not even had the decency to notice my newest sculpture.” He pointed to a big sculpted bird a few meters from Itachi's right. “Gorgeous, isn't it?”

“Indeed,” agreed Itachi, because it was true. Despite his eccentric personality, Deidara's talent was undeniable.

Deidara was a friend from college, the one who introduced Itachi to several forms of art, including the one that would become his favourite hobby in later years: oil painting. Deidara himself wasn't very fond of the technique, but he always encouraged Itachi to keep on with it, even if it was never his intention to paint professionally and he never allowed anyone to see his paintings anymore.

After a few minutes of honestly praising Deidara's art, Itachi got to the topic he wanted. “I'm trying to find a color.”

Deidara rolled his eyes. “I have several colors here. You're gonna have to be more specific.”

“Well, that's the problem. I don't know what color I want.”

Deidara didn't seem impressed as he eyed Itachi from head to toe. “How about… black.”

Itachi chuckled. Deidara's sassiness would probably get on his nerves if it weren't for all the experience he acquired all those years ago when Sasuke was a teenager. “I didn't know Sai and you were back together,” he said casually, but not trying to hide his own amusement. “I recall you were with Sasori just a month a ago?”

“What are you trying to color, anyway?” asked Deidara as he turned around and walked to the counter where he kept several types of ink, completely ignoring Itachi's question.

“Eyes.” Itachi followed him. 

“Hm.” Deidara grabbed a few boxes of oil paint. “Tell me exactly what the problem is.”

“Well, it's just a matter of finding the right color. I tried everything: blue, green, brown. But none of them seemed to… fit.”

“I know what you mean.” Deidara gave it some thought, then clucked his tongue and snapped his fingers. “Maybe I have what you need. Wait here.”

He entered a door in the corner of the atelier, the one Itachi knew led to his home upstairs. He waited patiently for several minutes until Deidara appeared again, carrying a large box of what Itachi recognized as oil paint.

“It's a special kind of paint Sai and I purchased when we were travelling,” he explained, pulling a few smaller boxes from the larger one. “Now, pay attention. I'll let you put together your own palette, but only because you're are a dear friend of mine.”

Itachi arched an eyebrow. “And how expensive is your generosity going to be?”

“Very expensive.”

Itachi smiled and shook his head. Deidara wasn't ashamed of many things in his life, and that included overcharging his closest friends. Oh, well, thought Itachi, reflecting on the extent one goes for his hobbies.

It took a little while, but Deidara helped him pick a nice palette of colorful paints with ridiculously fancy names — from Indian Turquoise to Daffodil — that made Itachi laugh and promptly be reprimanded. Very few of them were actually real eye colors, but Deidara suggested he could mix it up and experiment a little. “Just let your creativity flow,” he advised, “and perhaps you'll find your right tone.” The cost of all that was considerably high, but still less than what Itachi was expecting. He thanked his friend and left the place with a promise to visit (and spend) more often.

He immediately drove home, stopping only to buy some take out to eat on the way. The road back to the countryside was empty most of the time, so he could speed up over the stipulated limit without having to worry about the patrol.

When he arrived home, Sasuke and Naruto were sitting in the grass, watching Naruto's dogs running around.

“Come sit with us, Itachi,” called Naruto. Itachi refused, but stopped in the middle of the stairs to observe them for a few minutes.

Even though Naruto and Sasuke married over three years ago, and dated for almost ten before that, they still acted like they were in honeymoon. Itachi knew both of them enough to know it wasn't an act, and he was happy for his little brother and for one of his best friends, of course he was. Sometimes, however, when Itachi watched them embracing and whispering tenderly like that, he couldn't help feeling a kind of sting in his chest — not exactly jealousy or envy, but something similar to longing.

He wanted the same thing for himself.

Not that he was romantically or even sexually frustrated, even though his last relationship ended years ago and Itachi was never the kind of person who found enjoyment in one night stands. He preferred steady relationships before giving himself sexually, because once he did it, he liked the intimacy to be mutual and wholeheartedly. He didn't have too many lovers in his past, but the couple of relationships he did engage on had been quite satisfactory — although not exactly fulfilling — and each one lasted for more than two years. They just didn't work out in the end.

Sighing, Itachi climbed the stairs, the box with his newest palette in hands. He didn't have any regrets towards his past love life, but he also didn't like to dwell on it too much. Recently, only good wine and _him_ seemed to effectively will those thoughts away. So before going to his study, he stopped at the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of one of his favourite brands of light red wine.

When he entered his study, he was immediately greeted by the sight of the full body painting of a red haired man in the middle of the room. Itachi had been working on that particular project for weeks, and had gone through a lot of trouble to find a canvas of that size, but it had been worth every penny and trouble.

What was now his favourite hobby had started as a mere curiosity, all those years ago. Since the very beginning, Itachi discovered he wasn't very fond of painting scenarios or animals. He usually preferred the challenge of human anatomy, and concentrated all his efforts into improving his skills in the realistic style he always admired.

Although he did draw women every once in a while, his preference lay on male anatomy. Most of his drawings and paintings were quite pornographic, consisting mainly of naked men in promiscuous poses. Nobody was allowed to see them, though. Not because he was ashamed of his works or afraid to be called a pervert. He just considered his paintings to be private, a very intimate part of himself.

Itachi eyed the painting before him intently, taking in all the details he'd given it. Lately, his hobby was becoming less of a pastime and more of an obsession, all because of that red haired man in the painting.

One day, feeling bored and uninspired, Itachi decided to doodle something. He ended up sketching a tall, slender man, with well defined muscles and long, smooth hair of the most vivacious shade of red cascading through his shoulders and back. Something in that drawing caught him, so he sketched that same again. And again. And again. Soon he found himself unable to draw or even think about anything else other than the red haired man, his muse, his obsession. He couldn't have anticipated that a simple practice sketch would become so much more.

Like all of his other paintings, the first sketches were pretty obscene — with his muse on all fours, looking back at him with a provocative smile; or on his back, with his legs spread open to show everything the painter wished to see.

But then it became more than that. Itachi drew him whenever he had the chance, in whatever piece of paper he could find. He started experimenting, drawing his muse in less pornographic and more simple, pure contexts — reading a book with a concentrated expression; or reclining on a bench, head up and eyes closed, as if he were enjoying the sunlight; or sleeping peacefully, messy hair framing his face among the sheets.

Or — and those were secretly his favourites — he drew his muse smiling, and paid special attention to those drawing, picturing perfectly all the different kinds of smiles his muse would give him: mocking, teasing, warm…

Eventually, however, he found himself with a problem he didn't know how to fix but wasn't able to ignore: like he said to Deidara, he tried several colors on his muse's eyes — tones of blues, greens, and also browns and even black — but none of those colors fit properly.

Itachi turned to the box in which Deidara organized his new palette and grabbed the ink tubes to experiment, just a drop of each one in a small canvas to test their colors. None of them were exactly was he was looking for. Frustrated, he reached for the last tube in the box, labelled _Electric Crimson_. He snorted at that name. The tone was nothing more than a mix of deep red and orange, an unique but not so much of a special color. He liked it enough, though, and just to be sure, he took another small canvas where he had doodled his muse and used the brush to paint his eyes with that color.

Surprisingly, it fit perfectly.

After preparing the ink and brushes to his liking, Itachi turned to the full body canvas. His work in project was rather simple: his muse standing completely naked, facing the painter, with his hair cascading through his shoulders and chest and one hand in his hip. Itachi's hands shook a little when he started — finally — to paint his muse's eyes, moving the brush slowly, almost reverently. Painting had always been a kind of therapy for him, and when he was fully focused, it was like entering some kind of trance. He didn't hear anything else around him, all that mattered was the oil paint and the canvas.

When he was finished, he took a couple of steps back to admire his work and, modesty aside, he thought it surpassed his own expectations. Besides the crimson, he used black for a vertical slit in his muse's eyes and golden for a few stray lines in the iris, giving the man's eyes a feline appearance. That shape and color would be impossible in reality, but it fit him perfectly.

He'd finally completed his self-imposed task of finishing that painting. And now he couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

Itachi took long gulps of the wine bottle that went forgotten thus far. He eyed the painting, taking in all the details — the beauty of the man's face, the perfection of his body, how his posture seemed to call Itachi in a teasing, challenging way, as if his eyes were silently trying to say, “Reach for me”.

He groped himself through his jeans, that sight alone being enough to give him an erection, and closed his eyes, thinking of all the scenarios, all the possibilities, if only that man were real…

He could imagine everything.

His muse was muscular, a trait Itachi always appreciated in his lovers. That meant he would be strong enough to pine Itachi to a wall and hold him there while he fucked him senseless. (Itachi freed himself from his pants and moaned as he caressed his cockhead with a thumb.) He would be smart, too, and witty. Judging by his smiles, he'd also be wild, unpredictable. (Itachi started to stroke himself.) His laughter would be loud. It would echo through the room, grappling the attention of everyone around him. He'd relish on it, what probably would make him an egocentric person, borderlining rude. He'd also be cunning, though not in a calm and collected way, like Itachi was, but the complete opposite.

And, because deep down Itachi was a pervert (even if he didn't see reason to show that side of him to just anyone), of course his muse would be a sex god.

Itachi opened his eyes again and let them travel through his muse's body, images of himself kissing and licking him all over filling his mind. When his gaze dropped to the man's hips, he imagined himself on his knees, sucking his muse's cock. If Itachi was already hard, that image alone was enough to set him on edge, pre-cum slicking his fingers as he stroke himself faster. He would swallow that delicious cock, make his muse go crazy, say the dirtiest things as he pulled Itachi's hair and fucked his mouth with abandon.

In the haze of his excitement, Itachi could swear his muse's eyes were calling him. Unconsciously, he lifted an arm, for a second honestly trying to reach for him. But then he realized what he was doing and lowered it again.

He kept looking at him, though, at those beautiful eyes and inviting mouth, thinking of everything he would do to that gorgeous, sexy man. He bit his lip and it didn't take too long before he was spilling himself in his own hand.

Breathing heavily, he supported himself as best as he could in his shaking legs, still eyeing the painting. The orgasm had been quite intense, as it always was intense when Itachi thought about him, but he'd never done it in the study, right in front of one of his paintings before. That thought was enough to replace the post-orgasm bliss for an unpleasant feeling.

Itachi looked down at the mess he'd made in his hand and shirt. He had never been ashamed of his hobby. Never. Not even when he admitted to himself he got off on drawing men in promiscuous poses. Nonetheless, when he looked back at the painting, he was convinced he had crossed some type of line. It was getting too much. How long had it been since he'd thought about anything else other than the man in the painting?

The unpleasant feeling that attacked him was nothing more than longing. Itachi longed for hugs, for kisses, caresses and _pillow talk_ from a man he'd only seen in ink. No person in their right mind would wish for such intimacy from someone who didn't even exist. No matter how perfect they might possibly (probably) be.

Melancholy hovered over Itachi as he left the study in order to take a shower, leaving the painting to dry by itself. He didn't bother to close the door. It was already dark outside, meaning he had spent several hours in the study once again. Bitter, he thought of all the hours he lost admiring the paintings of his muse, literally watching paint dry. His obsession was spiralling out of control, and Itachi decided he should stop it before he reached a point of no return. (He tried not to think that maybe he already had.)

He wouldn't admit it to anyone who asked, but just the thought of letting that man — that gorgeous, perfect, _fictional_ man — go… it really hurt.

Itachi took his time in the shower, trying not to dwell on those thoughts anymore. The warm water served to calm him a little bit, and he took his time under the douche. Then, clad in only a white towel, he went straight to his bedroom, not in the mood to anything else but falling asleep. There, as he searched for a pair of boxers, Itachi sensed someone watching him from the door in silence. At first it didn't unsettle him. Sasuke and Naruto did that a lot when they were troubled with something and needed to talk to him. Since he hadn't heard footsteps approaching, it couldn't be his brother-in-law.

“Sasuke?” Itachi called without turning to look at his younger brother. “Something wrong?”

“No,” came the soft response in a voice Itachi didn't recognize. Alarmed, he turned around quickly. And froze.

There was a man standing by the door. A tall, muscular, and simply gorgeous red haired man.

“Hey,” greeted the stranger, smirking mischievously, the same smirk Itachi had obsessively drawn so many times.

Frozen, he watched in awe as the man walked slowly towards him, taking in all the details: the red hair cascading through his chest, floating softly with each step he took; the hard muscles defining that beautiful naked body; the hard line of his jaw; those voluptuous lips. And those eyes. Reddish, feline-like, with golden strays in the iris — electric crimson colored eyes. Just the way Itachi had drawn.

“Y'know,” the man — his muse — said once they were face to face, so close their chests nearly touched, and Itachi thought he'd heard a mix of anxiety and mirth in that deep voice. “I've been dreaming with this moment for a very long time.”

Slowly, Itachi lifted a hand to touch his muse's cheek, wondering if it was just a dream. He felt warmth from the soft skin against his palm, and when his muse leaned into the touch, all Itachi could manage was a breathy, “You…”

“Kurama,” his muse said, smiling as he tilted his head to kiss Itachi's palm.

“Kurama…”

Kurama chuckled softly, and his voice sounded as breathy as Itachi's. “I already love my name in your lips.” He mimicked Itachi, touching his cheek and caressing gently. “But I still don't know yours.”

Itachi felt breathless. They were close, so close, and Kurama's body felt so warm. It took a few seconds for him to fully comprehend what was said. “Itachi,” he answered finally, closing his eyes.

“Itachi,” Kurama whispered slowly, as if savoring the name in his lips. He placed a hand on Itachi's hips and another behind his neck, and pulled him closer. “Itachi,” he repeated and, before Itachi could manage a coherent thought, warm lips were being pressed against his.

The kiss started chaste, but it was easily the best one Itachi had ever had. Kurama's lips were soft against his. He couldn't restrain himself from biting lightly at them and smiling when the other man seemed to enjoy it. His bottom lip was licked in return, and Itachi opened his mouth, allowing Kurama entrance. They explored each other's mouths in a calm, slow pace, just as they touched and caressed each other's bodies.

Itachi could very well be out of orbit. His whole focus was on the other man. He didn't feel his towel being loosened and falling on his feet, he didn't feel his body being moved backwards; he only felt Kurama lifting him up and pressing him against the wall as the kiss grew more heated and urgent.

“I watched you,” Kurama panted, hugging Itachi tightly, kissing and biting his lips, his jaw, his earlobe. “For so long, I dreamed about you, about touching you.” 

Itachi wanted to say that him, too, had dreamed about his muse, about touching him. About how, in his dreams, their encounter would be exactly like this, and how part of him still doubted that what was happening was truly real. But Kurama adjusted himself better between his legs and, as their erections touched, Itachi completely lost the trail of thoughts. He wrapped his legs around Kurama's waist so to guide in in a rhythmic motion against his own hips.

“I wanted you in my arms,” Kurama said, quickly taking control of the pace and wrapping them both in his hand. “Exactly like this.” He teased Itachi's cockhead with a thumb, drawing a long moan from him, and his lips curved in a cocky grin.

As Kurama pumped them both in an increasingly quickening pace, Itachi entwined fingers in his bright red hair and drew him in another heated, breathtaking kiss, and then another, and another, and another. The warmth of Kurama's body, the taste of his mouth, the hand around his cock — _everything_ felt so incredibly _good_ , it took very little time before they were shaking and breathing in each other's moans as sweet oblivion took them both nearly at the same time.

Itachi kept his eyes closed as he felt Kurama lowering him in bed and lying down beside him, covering half of his body. He was sticky and sweaty, both of them were, but neither minded it in the least. Senses still heightened, he shuddered a little when Kurama nuzzled his neck lazily. The featherly-like brush of Kurama's hair in his skin brought a pleasant sense of peace, but at the same time, Itachi felt a strange kind of euphory.

“What's wrong?” Kurama asked, and Itachi realized he had tensed up under the other man's touch. He opened his eyes to see Kurama above him, supporting himself in one elbow, and looking at Itachi with concern.

And as Itachi stared at those beautiful, exotic eyes, he found himself uncharacteristically wordless. He'd always been a very eloquent person, but he didn't really know how to explain how deeply in love he'd fallen with the object of his fantasies, who was too perfect to be real. “You're just a dream,” was all he managed to say, in a barely audible whisper.

Kurama frowned. “I'm not,” he said and, as if to prove his point, dipped down to kiss Itachi gently, “I'm not,” he repeated against his lips. “You have no idea of how much I watched you on the other side, wishing I could just touch you, be with you.”

“Other side?”

“Where I come from.”

“Where you… come from?”

Kurama nodded. “And I made it.” He pressed his forehead against Itachi's. “I finally made it. Don't say I'm not real.” 

Before Itachi could start questioning, Kurama distracted him with a kiss, which was eagerly returned. They hugged, kissed and caressed each other for a good while, and it was as relaxing as it was arousing and Itachi thought, amused, that he hadn't simply been like this, just making out with anyone else in a long time. Since high school, probably. It was good, though. Kurama made him feel good, in a way nobody else had ever made him feel before, and he wanted to do the same for him.

He pushed Kurama a little, just enough to turn him on his back, and reached out to the bedside table. He grabbed a half used bottle of lubricant from the inside of one of the drawers. Despite being single for all those years, Itachi never relinquished the private sessions he engaged in fairly frequently.

Kurama was smiling when Itachi looked back at him, in a pleased, lascivious way that made Itachi's heart beat faster in anticipation. Just the image of Kurama lying in his bed, completely naked and smiling invitingly at him was enough to make him hard in an instant.

Silent, Kurama reached for Itachi's hands and pulled him down. Their joined hands rested beside his head on the pillows, their fingers entwined, as they went back to kissing passionately for several minutes. 

Words weren't needed as Itachi poured a good amount of the lube in Kurama's fingers. Kurama maneuvered his body as he pleased, turning Itachi on his side in the bed and putting a leg between Itachi's, so to spread them. It had been too long since the last time Itachi had been with anyone, but Kurama was very careful, gentle even, as he slowly slipped one finger, and then another, into Itachi's tight hole. And all the while, as Itachi hugged his shoulders and brought him closer, Kurama whispered dirty, provocative thing on his ear — how Itachi made him feel, all the things he'd do to him, how he'd fuck him so hard and Itachi would love it — and soon Itachi was withering and thrusting back on Kurama's fingers, again lost in the sensations that only that sexy, perfect man was capable of making him feel.

Once he felt he'd been stretched enough, and before he completely lost it, Itachi pushed Kurama on his back. He was smirking and looking at Itachi with a smug expression, obviously pleased with himself.

“You're too cocky,” Itachi said as he straddled Kurama, who in turn just shrugged, his smirk broadening. 

“You love it.”

Itachi snickered. “I do,” he admitted as he leaned down to kiss Kurama a few times more.

Adjusting himself better in his lover's lap, Itachi reached for the bottle of lube and then for Kurama's hard shaft, squeezing it lightly. Kurama hissed at the contact, closing his eyes and arching his back. He was so hard, Itachi could feel his cock twitching as he pumped it lazily, pre-cum slicking his fingers. He licked his lips at the vision and quickly poured more lube in Kurama's cock before positioning himself above it.

“Fuck,” Kurama hissed as Itachi lowered himself on his length slowly.

Itachi watched as his muse tried but failed to keep his eyes open and, still smiling, bit his lip, an expression of sheer pleasure in his face. It was hypnotizing, to say the least, and when Itachi started moving up and down slowly, the moans and expressions he was able to draw from his lover were even better.

He rode Kurama slowly for a while, just enjoying the feeling of his hard shaft inside him. Kurama's hands traveled and caressed his arms, his torso, his cock, every part of Itachi he could reach, and when Kurama's cock brushed _right there_ , Itachi started riding him faster, harder, swaying his hips.

“Fuck, fuck,” Kurama repeated as if it was a mantra. His hands were holding Itachi's waist tightly, helping him with the movements, and he started thrusting upwards, meeting Itachi on his way down.

Time was lost to them. Everything felt good, so good, too good, and after what could have either been a few minutes or several hours they were both writhing and moaning loudly as they climaxed again nearly at the same time.

Itachi felt boneless. He let himself fall limp in his lover's arms, who caught him, held him, squeezed him even as his body still quivered with the aftershocks of orgasm. They fell in a comfortable silence, Kurama kissing the top of Itachi's head affectionately and caressing his back.

“Kurama…” Itachi murmured against Kurama's chest.

“Yeah…” Kurama answered.

There were so many things he wanted to talk about, to ask, but he wasn't really sure where to start. Kurama's caresses were soothing and distracting, and before Itachi realized it, he was falling asleep.

\- * -

When he woke up the next morning, Itachi found himself alone in bed. Some kind of feeble agony assaulted him, and he thought, of course everything had been just a dream. Either that, or he was so drunk last night he started seeing illusions, and believing them.

However, everything felt so real. Images of last night passed through his mind, vivid and fresh. He still felt sore, and the sheets held telling evidence that what had happened wasn't just a dream.

It couldn't be just a dream.

Getting up, Itachi strolled through his home, not bothering to put any clothes on and half afraid that he wouldn't find anyone with him in the house.

He breathed deeply in relief when he found Kurama in the balcony, also naked.

“Your sky is blue,” said Kurama when Itachi came to stand beside him. His voice was hoarse and he was staring at the horizon, but his eyes didn't seem to be particularly focused on anything. “And your soil is green. It's… strange, but beautiful.”

“How is it there?” asked Itachi. “The place where you come from.”

Kurama frowned. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, and closed his eyes, as if trying to remember something. “I can't remember,” he said finally. “Not anymore. My debt was charged.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are rules for the runaways, I can never go back, and since I'll never be able to see my brothers and sisters again, there is no need for me to remember them. The only thing I'm allowed to keep from my birthplace is my own name.”

Itachi eyed the horizon as well, taking a few minutes to give Kurama's words some thought. Just to imagine the pain of having to leave and forget his family, his friends, his entire world, and knowing that coming back would be impossible… “That's too cruel.”

Kurama shrugged nonchalantly. “Rules are rules. I chose to leave. I accept them.”

Coming between Kurama and the railing, Itachi hugged the other man's waist tightly. He saw the barely concealed hurt in his lover's eyes, and although he hoped Kurama didn't regret it, he also didn't think there was anything else he could say or do to soothe his pain

“You are the only reason why I'm here.” Kurama hugged Itachi's shoulders and passed his fingers through Itachi's hair. “I left because I wanted to be with you. I couldn't stand to be apart from you any longer. I gave you my name, the only thing I have left from my origins. Don't say I'm not real.”

Itachi watched those deep, electric crimson colored eyes for a long while. They were filled with a mix of expectancy and apprehension, and Itachi thought he understood the depth of Kurama's actions, what it meant for him, for both of them.

“I won't,” he promised, squeezing Kurama's waist. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.” Kurama smiled at him, and it was as genuine and pure and gorgeous as every time Itachi had drawn him.

“Good.” Itachi smiled as well, and buried his face on Kurama's chest.

They stayed like this for several minutes, just enjoying each other's warmth in the chill of the early morning, until one of Naruto's dogs started barking at nothing in the middle of the camp.

“What is that?”

Itachi looked up and saw the expression of curiosity in his lover's face. “A dog,” he answered.

“That's amazing!” Kurama gasped, his eyes widening when a couple of other dogs joined the first one in the barking.

“There are lots of these here. And much, much more of many things.”

“Will you show me?”

“Of course.” Itachi grinned, and went back to snuggle on his lover's chest as he watched the dogs barking and running around. He wondered how different Kurama's birthplace was from this world. Sadly, he'd never know. But he thought of everything he wanted to show to him, and all the possible reactions Kurama would have at seeing them for the first time.

He didn't want Kurama's sacrifice to be in vain. If he had lost his entire world, Itachi would be his new world, and he would make sure Kurama was happy, that he was the one making him happy, because happiness was what he felt when he was in his muse's arms.


End file.
